


Our Gentle Sin

by ishipthemsogoddamnhard



Series: Fests & Challenges [6]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: #Hannictober, #Hanniween, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Canon-Typical Violence, Domestic Fluff, Drabble, Established Relationship, Established Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Ficlet, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hannictober Challenge, Hanniween, I had to prove to myself I could still write hannigram feels, Light Angst, Love, M/M, Murder Husbands, Post-Canon, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill, Ritual, Tumblr Prompt, day 30, hints at smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-27 23:37:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8422081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishipthemsogoddamnhard/pseuds/ishipthemsogoddamnhard
Summary: Another ficlet from my post-fall murder husbands, this time for the Hanniween Hannictober challenge: Day 30 - Ritual





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [victorine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/victorine/gifts).



> I remembered I write Hannigram feels too <3

_No masters or kings_

_When the ritual begins_

_There is no sweeter innocence_

_Than our gentle sin - **Take Me To Church (Hozier)**_

 

Sometimes ritual was deadly, sinful and ceremonial.

That intense and solemn look they shared before a kill, the one that said “Together…Always…No matter what.” The thumb swiping blood from a lip, before the kiss that always tasted of what remained. The way Will wouldn’t want to talk as they drove home, as the storm raged in his eyes, and Hannibal never forced him to. The practiced ease with which Hannibal would methodically prepare the harvested organs for storage afterwards. It was the way Will pressed Hannibal to the wall the second they got through the door, vicious and aflame. Rough, desperate hands in the shower as the water turned red around them.

Sometimes ritual was quiet, assuming and natural.

Sunday mornings when Will curled his body automatically into the line of Hannibal’s. That strong hand snaking around his belly and a kiss just under his ear. The same shuddering moan it always drew from him. The same question of “What would you like to do today, my love?” and the same joke made in return “You, I hope…” It was Will sliding Hannibal’s tie off through his collar when they came back after dinners out. A spark in the smile implying that tonight that same piece of silk would be bound around wrists…or ghosts seen there instead that meant a night of overwhelmingly tender emotion.

Sometimes ritual was just the rhythm and routine of a shared existence. The grunts and poetry of life. From the blandness of ‘How was your day?’ to the drama of ‘I had the dream again’. Voices raised in intense pleasure and profound irritation. Their own uniquely beautiful pattern, woven together, with separation not survivable.

Sometimes ritual was comfort, security…

Love.


End file.
